4.5★
“I looked at the little houses along Petergate and thought again of the rule preventing citizens from casting sewage in the streets or in the river while the Progress was here. It would be piling up in their backyards. It was symbolic of the King’s visit: all glitter and show in front, a pile of turds behind.”
My, how things have changed (not, sadly). Henry VIII’s England. C. J. Sansom drops you straight in it, stink and all. I love the Matthew Shardlake series, but I find I have to come up for air before diving into the next book.
I find I also have to forgive some glaring anachronisms in dialogue. I don’t know how I get past them, but I do, and I remain just as immersed in the story as before the jolt of a modern phrase (e.g. “the penny has dropped” – from the 1930s). The rest rings so true that it compensates for any lapses. It does mean I rounded down to 4 stars instead of up to 5, though.
Henry VIII with his new queen (Catherine Howard, aged 18), their household and a cast of thousands are on a slow procession – a “progress” – to York and the North. It is promoted as a good-will trip, but it's really Henry's show of power. The peasants have to provide all the food, contribute to a stash of gold to be presented to the King, and put up with their fields being muddied and trashed by soldiers and others camping in them.
Shardlake and his young offsider, Jack Barak, are also on a mission for Archbishop Cranmer (his former employer, Thomas Cromwell having been beheaded recently), who has given Shardlake his seal to assure him safe passage and entry into the city. At York Castle, he reports to Master Radwinter and looks out the window of his office.
The moat is surrounded by reeds, and Radwinter explains that they are being gathered to make rushlights. But who are the people standing in the water, picking at their legs?
“‘They’re gathering the leeches that bite them, for the apothecaries.’
‘It must be a miserable occupation, standing deep in mud waiting for those things to bite.’
‘Their legs must be covered in little scars.’ He turned to me, his eyes looking into mine. ‘As the body of England is covered in the scars left by the great leech of Rome.’”
No lack of occupations for those with strong stomachs, it seems. A rather forward, quite lovely, young woman cleverly contrives to meet them, as she seems to have her eye on Barak, and he is easily smitten. Shardlake is understandably suspicious, and when it transpires that she’s part of the Queen’s household, he is even more nervous. Tamasin becomes a major character in this story, as do the women she works for who report to the Queen.
The King’s Progress progresses, with the nobility clad in extravagant finery while the regular folk are mostly pretty grubby. The divide between wealth and poverty was like the divide between humans and livestock. Farmers and peasants were on the land at the pleasure of the landowners – the nobles. As I mentioned before, in some places, things are still just as bad.
Lest I make this sound like nothing but misery and torture – oh, I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? Yes, bones hanging from a loft where a man had died slowly, in chains, and finally been picked clean, while various body parts of other miscreants (or just someone who was out of favour at the wrong time) decorate bridges and pikes and fences everywhere. And part of Shardlake’s assignment is to look after and transport a prisoner to London where he will be tortured in the tower. Keep him alive long enough to be tortured. Not what he had in mind for a career but he needs the money.
Where was I? Yes, lest this sound like only misery and torture, I must add that the story has plenty of intrigue, plots, suggested dalliances between the very young queen (18) and her former suitors, and some interesting personal developments between Shardlake, Barak, an elderly lawyer, and Tamasin, who thinks she’s the illegitimate daughter of a gentleman of importance. And of course there is Shardlake's secret mission for the Archbishop.
Shardlake is always noticeably avoided because of his hunched back, but Jack Barak can move in and out of pubs and chat to the locals. But they are considered “southron heretics”, so even he has to be careful. The King has banned any signs of the old religion (Catholic), but the North hasn’t taken kindly to the message.
Shardlake doesn’t follow either side now, but keeps that to himself. Still, when the King’s procession arrives, and he stands with the lawyers to present the local cases, he is overcome.
It was foolish, I that had once had Thomas Cromwell for a friend and confronted Richard Rich and the Duke of Norfolk, reduced to such a jelly. Yet this was not an official or nobleman I was approaching now. This was God’s anointed on earth, Head of His Church, guardian of the souls of three million subjects, more than human in his glory. In those few seconds I believed it all.
It's like a cult. A cult devised to excuse divorce, and eventually excused everything. As Archbishop Cranmer says:
‘The harsh measures the King takes are necessary. Do not forget he is chosen by God, appointed by Him to guide England into the paths of wisdom and truth.’
I won’t dwell on the harsh measures, but I will mention the author’s note.
What is still true – astonishingly, in the twenty-first century – is that Queen Elizabeth II retains the title Henry VIII took for himself: Supreme Governor of the Church of England, Defender of the Faith and – in theory at least – God’s chosen representative in England.
I’d rather her than Henry VIII as the British monarch (I’m an Aussie, and we’re still part of the Commonwealth), but I look forward to reading more of Matthew Shardlake’s adventures with that unpredictable, dangerous ruler.
I love and recommend this series. Just remove your nit-picking language editor’s hat.